Rear Admirals (The meaning of "That's Nice, Cheeks"
I started this blog yesterday. Since then I have received in excess of 17,000 e-mails asking what the name "That's Nice, Cheeks" means.
Let me explain. I work at a daily newspaper. On our staff we have people called agate clerks. These people work on the sports desk; they take scores and results over the phone and type them into complicated formats to make the box scores and stuff you see in the paper. You know, all the numbers you see in tiny print on the sports page.
Why all the people who do that job have not killed themselves yet remains a mystery to me. But that's beside the point. My paper had an agate clerk whose nickname was Cheeks. He was about the size of a beer truck, but a lot more hairy. No one could even remember how he came to be called Cheeks. Some said it was because he used to wear a Bruce Springsteen T-shirt that had a close-up image of Bruce's butt on it.
The other story was that Cheeks once wore a pair of jeans to work that had the entire ass ripped out of them. This story must have been apocryphal, because if Cheeks had come to work with his hindquarters exposed like that, it would have forever compromised the eyesight of anyone who saw him.
Anyway, Cheeks once left a note in the computer system in which he asked for a certain day off. It was a truly impassioned piece of writing about some family situation involving never-before-seen cousins, dying aunts and what-have-you. It was addressed to the guy who was nominally in charge of these unfortunate agate clerks, which is kind of like being in "charge" of some poor asshole shoveling coal with his bare hands deep in the bowels of the QE2.
Of course, everyone on the staff read the note, which is what you deserve if you leave anything in a computer system in an office. And the response to this plea for a lousy day off? The following response was left in the computer system: "That's nice, Cheeks. We need you to work that day."
Cheeks is long gone, but "That's Nice, Cheeks" has become sort of a rallying cry for anyone who has been fucked over by some functionary or factotum. It's come to stand for what we all hate worst: having to answer to someone else. It's also a reminder that no matter how important something is to you, chances are it's of absolutely no import to anyone on this Earth who actually matters, or THINK they matter.
Speaking of cheeks, I went into the restroom at a local mall today and the first thing I saw was the rear view of some guy at the urinal with his pants and undergarments down to his knees. Why? Why urinate with your pants down to your knees? Unless, of course, you are a woman, in which case you should not be in the men's room, and most certainly should not be standing up at a urinal. Don't ever do this, anyone. Please.
Let me explain. I work at a daily newspaper. On our staff we have people called agate clerks. These people work on the sports desk; they take scores and results over the phone and type them into complicated formats to make the box scores and stuff you see in the paper. You know, all the numbers you see in tiny print on the sports page.
Why all the people who do that job have not killed themselves yet remains a mystery to me. But that's beside the point. My paper had an agate clerk whose nickname was Cheeks. He was about the size of a beer truck, but a lot more hairy. No one could even remember how he came to be called Cheeks. Some said it was because he used to wear a Bruce Springsteen T-shirt that had a close-up image of Bruce's butt on it.
The other story was that Cheeks once wore a pair of jeans to work that had the entire ass ripped out of them. This story must have been apocryphal, because if Cheeks had come to work with his hindquarters exposed like that, it would have forever compromised the eyesight of anyone who saw him.
Anyway, Cheeks once left a note in the computer system in which he asked for a certain day off. It was a truly impassioned piece of writing about some family situation involving never-before-seen cousins, dying aunts and what-have-you. It was addressed to the guy who was nominally in charge of these unfortunate agate clerks, which is kind of like being in "charge" of some poor asshole shoveling coal with his bare hands deep in the bowels of the QE2.
Of course, everyone on the staff read the note, which is what you deserve if you leave anything in a computer system in an office. And the response to this plea for a lousy day off? The following response was left in the computer system: "That's nice, Cheeks. We need you to work that day."
Cheeks is long gone, but "That's Nice, Cheeks" has become sort of a rallying cry for anyone who has been fucked over by some functionary or factotum. It's come to stand for what we all hate worst: having to answer to someone else. It's also a reminder that no matter how important something is to you, chances are it's of absolutely no import to anyone on this Earth who actually matters, or THINK they matter.
Speaking of cheeks, I went into the restroom at a local mall today and the first thing I saw was the rear view of some guy at the urinal with his pants and undergarments down to his knees. Why? Why urinate with your pants down to your knees? Unless, of course, you are a woman, in which case you should not be in the men's room, and most certainly should not be standing up at a urinal. Don't ever do this, anyone. Please.
posted by Fiddler at 10:27 PM
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